"Really, Lord Ronald," she said, "if I actually needed a protector—which I do not—you are the very last person to whom I should turn. And as to a husband——"
She paused a moment, searching for words sufficiently barbed to penetrate even his complacency.
"Yes?" he said gently, as if desirous to help her out.
"As to a husband," she said, "if I ever marry again, it will be a man I can respect—a man who can hold his own in the world; a man who is really a man, and not—not a nonentity!"
Impetuously she flung the words. For all his placidity, he seemed to possess the power to infuriate her. She longed intensely to move him to anger. She felt insulted by his composure, hating him because he remained so courteously attentive.
He made no attempt to parry her thrust, nor did he seem to be disconcerted thereby. He merely listened imperturbably till she ceased to speak. Then:
"Ah, well," he said good-humouredly, "you mustn't take me too seriously. It was only a suggestion, you know." He picked up his hat with the words. "A pity you can't see your way to fall in with it, but you know best. Good-bye for the present."
Reluctantly, in response to his evident expectation, she gave him her hand.
"I wish you to understand, Lord Ronald," she said stiffly as she did so, "that my reply is final."
He lifted his eyebrows for a second, and she fancied—could it have been mere fancy?—that the grey eyes shone with a certain steely determination that was assuredly foreign to his whole nature as he made deliberate reply: